Do No Harm
by plasticfood
Summary: Two old friends meet after a year of separation, a bizarre chain of killings begins to surface across the East Coast, and a slave girl falls in love.
1. Chapter 1

_You've never been so happy._

 _You weave in and out of the black coats, air warm and salt-smelling, people's voices bouncing around in murmurs of approval or bubbling out in hushed cries from mothers. You gently push past Alfred and Edward and Ashley, beaming with pleasure or pale with nervousness, and take your place in line. You look up at the mass of faces and don't see your mother or father. The man at the front begins to speak. You watch the other men move, and you do the same, raising your right hand._

 _"_ _I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgement, this covenant."_

 _The words vibrate in through your toes. They travel up into your tarsals, through the popliteus and sura, the back of your shins and kneecaps. You become alive, but your eyes don't well with tears like Ashley and Edward. What are the typical things one is supposed to think about when they graduate from medical school? You wonder if you too are supposed to be crying, and you begin to think even as the words are barely leaving your lips. They come out in a whisper._

 _"_ _I will respect the scientific gains of the physicians in whose steps I walk."_

 _You think about your father, how he started to grow a beard after he and your mother decided not to live together any longer- it felt strange and bristly when he cradled you in his lap. He would comment on how small you were for a boy of eleven, but your mother loved your lightness, your pliability- it made you delicate- it made you hers. You mother was willowy and you felt her ribs through her breasts when she held you, your father a looming tower smelling of lemons._

 _"_ _I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart or a cancerous growth but a sick human being, whose illness may affect their family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these problems, if I am to care for the sick." The words fall like stones._

 _You think about Claire, her thin pink lips, awkwardly standing by the flowers in front of her building like a bride. You played with a tea-stained deck of cards on her floor and she made you laugh when she tried to imitate the way your voice cracked. You talked to her, and so she spent time with you, and then the events compounded until you no longer felt like parasites in polite company. You feasted upon one another. And then you stop thinking about her, because something in that memory reminds you of how the last time you kissed those same lips they were swollen and tasted of blood. You decide not to ever think of her again._

 _"_ _Above all, do not play at God."_

 _You think of the blue blossoms, how you memorized the shape of their leaves, how you overheard Mother saying pigs would eat anything, even humans. Such animals ought not to exist on this earth, you thought, and when you ground the plants into a bowl and fed them to the piglets you thought you were doing everyone a great service. When the pig-sellers' cries of anger and shock split the morning you slept soundly._

 _You were Eddie- born several weeks too early, pale and fragile, caught between two people who never showed eachother any love. You were Ed- the name coming mumbled from the just-kissed mouth of a sweet girl infested with lice. You were Edmund, to your classmates and the obnoxious ginger kid covered in soot, rubbing together with you in the crowd and nearly ruining your best suit._

 _The little fool is still sitting there in the audience, only this time he's with his parents. He looks bored. You glare up at him, but he doesn't see you, and you're sort of glad because that would mean he would probably see that as invitation to start following you again. You would be worried about how he knows your name, but that doesn't bother you anymore, because Edmund the medical student, and Ed the schoolboy holding a mortar and pestle, and baby Eddie born two sizes too small- they are all as dead as the piglets._

 _You stand beside the other medical students and mull your new name over, liking the way it feels in your mouth, rolling across your tongue. You know the four humours of the body and how much blood to draw from where. You can deliver babies healthier than you ever were. You know which herbs and powders to grind together to make someone's eyes bulge and lips turn blue. You know muscle and bone, and looking out at the crowd, with enough practice you could learn brains too- and then everything could be yours. Someone with that much grace and intelligence and cunning could never be called Eddie._

 _"_ _Above all, do no harm." The man says. Your mouth forms the words._

 _You are Doctor Edmund Judge._

 _You've never been so happy._


	2. Halloween

Manuel Mendoza walked through the chilling air, smelling salt and damp grass from the previous night's rain. He was completely alone, and carried nothing- no bedrolls, no extra shoes, no food, only the clothes on his back sticking to his skin. He was just beginning to get used to the silence, and it was to the sound of nothing he was expecting to lie down to sleep to. One step after the other sank into the earth, and he tried not to think, because it was one year to the day. October 31st.

He lay down beneath a tree and pulled his hat low over his face, pulling himself into the fetal position to keep warm. He never found any use for anniversaries, for marked days of celebration when kids put their shoes outside to receive gifts or put out milk for Santa. They were for the pleasure of others, but when every day was a new language and a new town they all blended together- there were no special days but his own. One day at 18 he'd looked up at the sky and said "Adios, Mami." to his mother, on her tiptoes hanging laundry next to him. She'd thought nothing of it, but by dawn the next morning he was gone. He'd written her a pretty long note and given her all the money he'd made working at the shipyard, but to stay for a longer explanation, he was certain, would have killed him. La Paz was getting too small.

It's impossible to feel too small when each night is full of different stars and different languages, when each night's city smell is different and each new face fades into a multitude of ones just like it. He could forget everything about La Paz except small sums of money packed into parcels and sent back across the earth each month- he imagined them sitting in ships like downed birds, he himself aloft and lovely, wings spread. When you travel each morning is a rebirth, and each evening a death, and the worries pass up into the black sky and become abandoned in some distant hemisphere.

If he were to venture into tonight's city the language he would hear would be English. He would smell more salt and candle wax from the factories and if he wanted could look out over the water and see the island's dark silhouette. It had a weird name- Aquidneck Island. And the city on it- Newport. When he'd first seen it he'd thought it had looked like the outline of a sleeping woman.

Rhode Island. Fucking Rhode Island. Of all places, that was where his legs had to give out. That was where he had to get tired. New York would be tomorrow, and it would be November 1st and when he woke up he would eat, and then he would get his things, and then he would walk away on strong legs toward a bigger city, a bigger sky of stars to get lost under. First days of the month were always a little lucky. There was no use for anniversaries in this new world, and even less use for October 31st. One year to the day. The feeling rose in him like an open sore. He inhaled and tasted what he imagined to be the New York taste- soot and sweat and perfume, maybe. But whenever he exhaled the air felt cold on his tongue.

"These apples are terrible."

"Who gives out some damn apples on Halloween? I can get those anytime I want."

"Wanna go visit the weird guy?"

The children fell silent.

"What do you mean?" a little girl with a gap between her teeth said tentatively.

"The weird guy. Y'all know which one, the one with the big hat! He went to sleep under the tree sort of off by the beach." A boy whose long legs had been pulled up to his chest leaned forward into his circle of companions. "Miss Hall only lets us out once a year. Why should we waste it?"

"She won't let us out ever again if we leave Providence." The little girl hissed.

"She won't know."

The little girl made a grumbling noise under her breath and slid back into the skirts of an older friend, where she reattached her mouth to a mushy red apple. Though only one had complained, they all agreed they tasted like sawdust and mashed into an unpleasant porridge on the tongue.

The weird guy came into town a few days before, and the children immediately distinguished him from all the other weird guys that came into town because he actually talked to them- specifically to one of them. Ernest.

The story went that somebody dropped him down the stairs as a baby, and as a result he walked in this sluggish, painful jolting of limbs and slurred his words together. When he spoke he did so extremely slowly so people could understand him better, but because he had a tendency to get distracted it could be ages before he finally could ask for what he wanted.

 _"_ _Aaaaandd soooo I thhhouuugghhhttt…. Maybbeee weeeee c-cooouuuullldddd shhow themmm… loookkkk, loookkkkk, att thattt doggggg, he'sss so well tehhkkeeeen carree off…"_

By eleven most adults lost patience listening to him after a little while.

Yet the weird guy had talked to him, and not in the quick, pained small talk of people who don't know better, but with profound interest. There had been a sort of gentle fatigue in the way he accepted a few sweaty orange candies from Ernest's hands, a trustworthiness in how he examined them before putting them in his mouth. He held them their for a while before letting out an "Mmm." The fact that he spent so much time in this gesture showed he cared enough to show them genuine thought.

Every day that had followed, though he hadn't talked to the children, he'd nodded whenever he passed them, a simple "hello." He'd accepted candy whenever Ernest had offered it. In taverns, he ordered food and drinks but chose to sit in corners and by windows and stare into the glass, completely silent. The children couldn't tell how old he was. A beard teased at his mouth and ears and small wrinkles had formed around his eyes, but that could have been the same sun that aged sailors as young as twenty.

"He looks like he's in mourning, the way he acts. Like a widow or something."

"He look like a farmer."

"That hat is stupid."

"What's his tattoo of?"

"He has tattoos?"

The children found themselves surprised at how interested they were. They'd be lying in bed talking about something as innocuous as green beans and then suddenly the green beans would remind someone of the way the weird guy always had something in his mouth to chew or suck on- a mint leaf or a candy or sometimes even a piece of paper bitten to a pulp. Then they'd be off and wouldn't know when the conversation ended because the weird guy followed their words until they broke apart and drifted into sleep.

On October 30th Ernest saw the weird guy making arrangements for a horse. He bought an array of long-lasting foods and new blankets.

" _Hhheeee's leavvinnn."_

He whispered the words into the ear of an older boy with long legs, one who could speak clearer. The older boy forgot them.

Then a little girl complained about some apples and the long-legged boy looked out the window and realized maybe Ernest and his horrible voice had a good thing going. Maybe the weird guy needed some help along his journey and he could tell the other children he'd be back for them and by the time Miss Hall posted a reward he'd already be well-dissolved in the seething, bloody soup of New York City sporting a new name like a pretty jacket. He liked that idea. It tasted better in his mouth than any candy could.

"If you feel like being chicken you can stay. But I wanna hear his story." He said.

"He could be a murderer." A voice murmured from the back.

The long-legged boy shrugged.

"It's not like we haven't had those here before."

He stood and walked to the door. Before he made it out the little girl shuffled along behind him, apple still lodged firmly in her mouth.

Before Manuel opened his eyes he felt hands. Half-in, half-out of sleep, they pushed at his shoulders and tugged his sleeves. He was in La Paz again. A hundred neighbors were telling him to get up, get up, the sun was rising, it was time to help _Papi._

"Stop squeezing him!"

Why were they speaking English?

"This was such a bad idea."

"Then why did you come?"

"I didn't want Judy by herself, she's six!"

This wasn't La Paz.

Through half-closed lids Manuel saw six children crouched in a circle around them. One of them was inches from his face. He jumped.

The children all at once shrieked and fell back into the grass. One of them had been holding a lantern and when he dropped it it rolled freely, a wobbling orange glow reflecting off wide and terrified eyes. They pulled themselves together into a mass, the littlest one quivering.

Now that the weird guy was awake they didn't know what to say. For one, he was grouchy. They sat together in silence for a few moments, the weird guy blinking sleepily at each of the kids in turn.

"What do you want?" his voice came out in a rasp.

"You're more interesting than Halloween, sir." The long-legged boy said.

"It's Halloween?" the weird guy mumbled. He shifted his weight and rubbed his eyes.

"Yep."

More awkward silence. Then-

'Where do you come from?"

Manuel yawned.

"That about describes it." He said.

The kids felt their butts getting wet from the grass. The sensation was uncomfortable, and the more they sat closer to the man the more they realized he reeked of sweat and coffee beans. He was glaring at them.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been startled from sleep before. It had happened so many times, from unexpected gunfire at night and strange cooing birds in jungles and storms throwing him out of hammocks and onto filthy floors of ships. But in all his years he'd never wanted to sleep a night away quite like this one.

The little girl screwed up her nose. "You smell." She said.

"Thanks." Manuel replied.

The kids weren't dangerous-but it was so late and he wondered if in this place where giving a cup of apple juice to a slave warranted 20 lashes if they knew what they were doing. They were black as vinegar, all of them, clad in worn coats the color of smashed sausage. The smallest one- wasn't her name Judy? Wasn't she six years old?

"We can't stay too long." The long-legged boy said.

And that was the whole answer right there.

"Who are you?" a girl near the back asked.

"Can you tell us a ghost story?" the little girl made puppy eyes.

Manuel ran a hand through his hair and found it limp and greasy. He'd wanted to stay in Rhode Island as little as possible and didn't remember the last time he'd really bathed. And maybe it was because of that, maybe it was because the night was the same deep bottom-of-the-lake color as it was one year ago when everything went to hell, maybe it was because the youngest girl had a funny accent and wore her hair in dreadlocks as some other memory of a girl did- maybe it was because tonight felt too full of fortitude and it was only because of exhaustion that he'd stopped at the tree two hours ago that he now closed his eyes and said yes.

'If I tell you this story you can' t tell your parents." He said.

"It's scarier than what you usually hear- in fact, it's a little horrible. If you can't handle it-" he leaned towards Judy- "or are maybe a little _squeamish_ -" she screwed up her nose again.

"It's better if you just don't listen."

None of the kids budged.

"It'll give you nightmares."

"Just tell us the damn story. It's cold out here. I'm missing Halloween for this!" Judy said.

"Alright."

"Wait!" a voice from the back shouted. "Why is it so bad? Why can't we tell our parents?"

Manuel looked at the children for a moment. The night felt thick- like him and the tree and the odd semicircle of slaves were all that existed in the world.

"Because it's true."

Then Manuel began.


End file.
